The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

In the third match of the day, Randidly watched Alana and Wivanya absolutely dominate Lucifer and Giuliana. Perhaps together, the whip-wielding Giuliana and the tenacious Lucifer would have been able to rival Alana’s positively biblical strikes and images, but it seemed that almost everyone who was present in the tournament had overlooked the scaled elephant in the room: Wivanya.

The frost dragon alone was a force to be reckoned with; the image of frigid chill she released was no joke. As it radiated outward, Randidly suppressed the urge to eradicate it from the area around him as he suppressed an urge to shiver. Combined with a Mana pool that made even Randidly raise his eyebrows, the duo from Franksburg soon couldn’t keep up with the Dragon Broodmother’s attacks.

Still, until the last moment, Randidly did not avert his eyes from the battle. That was the respect that he gave to the heroes, or Legends as the fans had begun to call the most powerful image users, who had managed to make it this far.

Lucifer and Giuliana were strong. They had just encountered two individuals who were stronger still.

At the end of the match, Lucifer’s feet were frozen to the ground and Giuliana had collapsed in a snowdrift. But he still raised his massive saber and turned his attention to Wivanya, who was hovering in the air and bombarding them with chilling waves of ice. His image began to boil and his fingers tightened on the hilt of his weapon. “Lucifer Slash.”

Alana shot forward to strike at Lucifer’s exposed back, but he didn’t waver from his attack. His image ballooned upward in a destructive aura that then rushed through the sky toward Wivanya. The frost dragon raised her head and roared in challenge. “Frigid Storm!”

She breathed out ice and sleet in a dense cone, but the slash ripped through that. Compared to the image of cold, the direct power of Lucifer’s image had enough of an advantage that he could strike a serious blow. He wasn’t powerful enough to prevent his body from being riddled by wounds in his clashes with Alana, but more than enough to suppress Wivanya if he ignored everything else.

But such an attack obviously came with a cost.

Alana drove her spear through Lucifer’s shoulder while Lucifer’s slash ripped open Wivanya’s scales and set the dragon spiraling toward the ground. Wivanya landed with a crash that shook the stands. Meanwhile, Alana pursed her lips, adjusted the grip on her spear, and then twisted it painfully while it was still within his shoulder. “Why?”

“Pride,” Lucifer replied simply. The dust slowly began to clear and the dragon struggled to prop herself back up into a sitting position. It seemed her right wing was badly damaged.

“Satisfied?” Alana asked.

“Not when I am about to lose, no,” Lucifer replied. But he didn’t lower his head. He turned and gazed at Alana. “Do you intend to win everything?”

Alana didn’t bother to respond. She just smashed her fist against Lucifer’s jaw and sent him sprawling. Just like that, the third semi-final duo was determined.

Immediately, as the audience seethed and chattered excitedly below him, Randidly returned to the task of weaving Nether. The energy spun quickly into the desired thin strands and then wove themselves together to the Nether equivalent of linen. After making sure the thickness was exactingly uniform, Randidly spread the Nether out into the surrounding space and began to weave.

Congratulations! Your Skill Nether Sensation (L) has grown to Level 300!

Congratulations! Your Skill Experienced Creator’s Ingenuity (A) has grown to Level 145!

His movements were smooth and even as he spread his Nether out to fill the surrounding area. When Randidly closed his eyes, he could still sense the immense amount of memory and historic weight that had existed here due to the tournament. Of course, it was slowly being broken down and stolen away by the high pressure of the System Aether.

Randidly rolled his shoulders and then sighed.

Even compared to watching that weight be stolen, it was somewhat vexing to weave for an hour and to suddenly realize that the thickness had been gradually increasing to the point where it would warp surrounding space. So he needed to banish his earlier work and start again. Randidly could only throw his hands up in the air and make attempt after attempt the time between matches.

Before the fourth and final match of today began, Randidly had time to start and scrap his woven Nether nine times.

As he did so, he was careful to control his Nether Nebula very purposefully. When he was weaving, it spun clockwise and generated energy outward. When he needed to destroy and start anew, it spun counterclockwise and devoured all the Nether in the vicinity. He was somewhat bitter to see that light grey color steadily decreasing at the core of his Nether Nebula, but Randidly supposed it was worth it to increase his control.

He could always refine the density later. But for now, he simply couldn’t weave Nether that dense effectively. He needed it in a relatively less cumbersome state to keep the movements as precise as was required for the weave. And now he was faced with the rather disheartening thought that perhaps he needed to decrease the density even further, so flaws wouldn’t emerge so consistently as he extended the scale.

But ultimately, Randidly wasn’t willing to abandon his current method quite yet. His Nether Sensation steadily rose in Level, providing him with marginal improvements. And with his almost ridiculously high Control, Randidly’s base proficiency with utilizing his Skill was growing just as quickly. He was definitely improving at a ridiculous pace. But part of that improvement just ended up demonstrating how little he had understood about Nether when he had begun this side-project.

Sighing, Randidly once again rolled his shoulders and ripped his failed weave to pieces. The final match was about to begin. ‘Break’ time was over.

Lyra and Stan came out first and Randidly allowed his emerald gaze to focus on Stan. Since he had helped adjust the man’s Soulskill and the result had been so negative, he couldn’t help but be curious about him. Perhaps more directly, some old portion of Randidly’s paranoia dedicated to Lyra raised his hackles at this unexpected arrival.

A sudden and complete recovery to randomly participate in the tournament didn’t seem… likely.

Yet when Randidly peered down at the man, he could detect… almost nothing from him. It was like his image didn’t exist. Rather than being concerned, Randidly’s mouth slowly curved into a smile. To test a theory, he eased his tight control over his image and allowed the horrible hunger of the Stillborn Phoenix to radiate in a tightly controlled beam downward.

Below, Stan stiffened. Then he raised his vacant gaze toward Randidly’s island. As Randidly watched, the man’s expression twisted and his face darkened. His two innocuous brown eyes became portals to the abyss that widened and deepened as the exposure continued. With a short nod, Randidly pulled back his image and suddenly Stan was just an ordinary person once more. He blinked and then resumed his walk.

A pure copycat type, huh… Randidly tapped his jaw. Then he looked at the other end of the arena. Just what are you planning, Lyra? Do you really think that’s enough to beak your opponent?

Hank Howard rode his horse Ancho out of the long hallway and was met by the howls of approval. Perhaps it was because he was from Zone 1 and now fought essentially alone, but he appealed to the crowd even more than Paolo and Kayle did. Yet between this duo, Randidly’s focus turned toward the horse. It cantered calmly forward, not even batting an eyelid at the chaotic mess of noise around it. Compared to skittish horses that Randidly had seen in the past, it was a suspicious response. Despite the strange environment, it was calm and almost… haughty.

...yet no matter how I look at it, that is just a normal horse… Randidly awkwardly scratched his cheek.

With great gravity, Hank hopped down from Ancho’s saddle and handed the reins to the referee. Then he strolled across the arena to his side, his leather cowboy boots very prominently on display. The referee frowned down at the horse next to him but then shook his head helplessly. “Are both sides prepared?”

While the two teams nodded, Randidly finally turned his gaze to Lyra. Even now, some part of his heart froze when he looked at her. It wasn’t that his feelings for her, both for good or bad, were still present within him. Through time and reflection, he had moved past them. But somehow, she had changed the anatomy of his heart. That brief stutter was simply a part of his psychology now when he saw her golden hair and violet eyes.

Her leather armor was almost stylish across her slender form as she toyed with a long knife and waited for the match to begin. Her image was self-contained and controlled. As far as Randidly could tell, there was nothing suspicious about her involvement in the tournament; she simply wanted to see how far she could go as a human.

...but you aren’t just a human anymore, Lyra.Still, if it makes you feel better… neither really am I. But that means we need to be very careful with our actions…

Immediately, Randidly’s mouth curled upward with the irony of that thought. ...heh, I suppose I have no right to say that to you, considering I boldly challenged Yystrix with no rationale basis for overcoming her...

“Let the final match of the quarter-finals… begin!” The referee announced.

A violet moon condensed in the air above Lyra as she dashed forward. Hank Howard drew his repeater and laid down several crisp shots, each bullet heavy with his image. And that image was so sharp that when Lyra deflected the first bullet to reach her, her face immediately twisted into a grimace. She activated some Skill to boost her speed and shot forward, trying to bring the match into close quarters as she wove between shots.

Stan watched the entire thing placidly, his image slowly morphing.

Unfortunately for Lyra, Hank Howard wasn’t a man that was only proficient with distant battles. When she came close, he changed his grip on his pistol and readily moved in for a round of fisticuffs. He strikes were sharp and powerful, and if Lyra ever attempted to open up some distance and attempt a Skill, Hank could simply level his pistol at her.

Lyra spun and slash and Hank calmly stepped forward. He endured blows with his arms and struck to crush Lyra where she was weakest. Her fighting style… well, it wasn’t that it was rusty, but it clearly was specced more toward assassinations. Confronting him directly, Lyra’s tricks fell flat.

As Randidly watched, his respect for Hank Howard slowly growing. His image wasn’t as destructive as even the defeated Huang Li’s, but it was pervasive. Rather than being a weapon, it became the setting; the more Lyra fought against Hank Howard, the more she waded into the deep river of his image. At the corner of Randidly’s gaze, he saw a rolling tumbleweed that vanished when he looked at it more directly. The noise from the crowd warped to become the lonesome howl of a coyote.

The arena transformed in Hank’s hands become the platonic ideal fo the Wild West. It was a land where gritty loners wandered from town to town, searching through the dust and spent bullet casings for their dreams. Although criminals might make a few quick bucks, the course of history was inevitably pulled back toward righteousness.

But even as Hank’s image became even more powerful, Lyra ducked under a bullet and laughed. “Stan, I think it’s about time that you started to move.”

With the wind whistling behind him, Stan sauntered forward, an almost perfect copy of Hank Howard’s image. Lyra unleashed a few slashes to keep Hank distracted, but took on a more passive role as Stan rolled up his sleeves; here she could prepare for a sudden ambush. Hank and Stan stared at each other for five seconds and then rushed toward each other in a brutal brawl. Soon, the ground was spattered with blood.

...although the primary reason that the brawl was brutal was that Hank wiped the floor with Stan.

“That’s…” Lyra seemed genuinely surprised as she looked at the crumpled form of Stan. He hadn’t even lasted long enough for her to strike. “That’s ridiculous. He can copy an image almost perfectly. His strength should be almost the same as yours. Yet you won so easily…”

“A man’s only as good as ‘is horse,” Hank said, wiping the blood from his knuckles. Then he shrugged and spat over to the side. “He can copy the image… but he’s not singin’ the ballad, girly. How can a cowboy not ‘ave a horse?”

Lyra’s smile transformed into a haphazard collage of broken glass. “Did you seriously call me girly? I’ll kick your ass.”

Randidly could see Lyra furious visibly mounting as Hank chuckled. “Girly… if ya could kick my ass, wouldn’t ya have done it already? Let’s git this over with.”

Lyra image howled to the fore, the violet moon that hovered above her sunk lower. It seemed to close that it was like an eerie eye, glaring down at the Earth. But the Wild West didn’t care about the color of the moon. In fact, it accepted it willingly; many different individuals and ideologies had swarmed through the Wild West. That was part of its charm.

It was a Path that could be taken by almost anyone.

Her sharp and vicious image wasn’t enough to overcome Hank’s easy dependability. Lyra slumped to the ground with a bullet in her shoulder and three in her thigh. The referee waved his hands. “The winners are… Hank and his horse Ancho!”

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